Oct. 13, 14
Wayland, Iowa holds a special place in my heart. Maybe because I visited it back on ’95 when I was on another drive-about on the Harley and it just made me smile to be in Wayland. This was when I was living in Wisconsin and finally took a real vacation, a circuitous route to Sturgis, S.D. (two weeks after the motorcycle rally----I hate crowds) and the back roads that would eventually lead to a hook up with friends Dave, Laura and Tim at the Davenport, Iowa Antique Show and Swap Meet.
As I pulled into town this time, I smiled again when I saw Dino the dinosaur (hey, kid at heart – who doesn’t love dinosaurs, the longtime symbol of that blessing and curse of society – petroleum) still announcing that gas was for sale (Sinclair station) where I had bought it in ’95.
I went in and found Terry Farmer (I know, I know---you’d think he be plowing versus pumping as a vocation), but he wasn’t the Farmer who had told me to “wait here, I’ll be right back” back in ’95 when I told him I was from Wayland, N.Y. It was his brother Keith who probably did so he said and told me he’d (they are co-owners of the convenient store) be in later.
With time to kill, I went around and grabbed some photos of the City (it’s a Midwest thing, Wayland has a population of about 900). It’s a pretty town---errr, city----with tree lined tress and well kept houses and has a couple of facilities that care for the elderly who can’t quite live alone anymore.
When I went back to the Sinclair, I immediately recognized Keith even after 15 years from when he gave me a patch and then told me of the Wayland down the road in Missouri. It took a little time, but Keith did remember the moment, if not my face, 15 years ago when he was a part of the fire department. At 72, he irked my fanny since he looked better than I do. Dammit.
Brother Terry had heard my reason for being here and the two gave me Rex McGuire’s name to connect with at the Fire Hall to swap patches. They also gave me the name Doc Widmer to call later on, since at 92, he was a fount of all things Wayland, “sharp as a tack,” as Keith said.
Wayland was first called Crooked Creek and then it became Marshall until too many things meant to go to Marshalltown (northeast of it) came to Marshall and for the reason lost to the ages, the city was renamed Wayland, Keith said.
They called Rex who was at the Hall, as was Joe Kaufman, and we commenced to swap tales of small town growing up. Rex, 47, said he worked as the head of the local telephone company (Iowa still has about 160 small independent phone companies---the largest number in the country he said) and loved growing up in the town he had never left.
“It was a typical small town. If you got in trouble the whole town knew it and you didn’t have to worry about your parents catching ya – everybody else caught you,” Rex said.
Rex called Police Chief Ron Roth who came to the Hall and I followed him to the city cop shop to trade patches and he (a 2002 transplant from East Dubuque) told me that Wayland was once known as “The Christmas Town of Iowa,” when 90% of the houses in town were decorated.
It all began back in 1833, June 1 to be exact once another rock solid treaty was signed with the Native Americans. This from the book, “Wayland: The First Century” that Rex traded me for an extra fire patch.
The surveyors did their thing from October to November 1837 and then it was all over but for the wagons coming and unloading. First of the adventuresome to be logged in as staking claims were Zeros Plunket, Elijah Shockly, Hopkins Williams and John Woods.
As Doc Widmer (who didn’t hesitate in naming Naples as the home of the Widmer Winery when I told him his name had a local flavor) said that Germans and Swedes (he is of Swiss ancestry) were among the first to settle in the area, which is very much a Mennonite community still. Crooked Creek (1830) became Marshall Sept. 24, 1851, and Wayland on March 20, 1880. Like Michigan, no one has a clue as to why Wayland was chosen. The committee that put together the centennial book did mention the fact that Wayland does have ancient roots from England that holds that “Wayland the Smith” (thousands of years in the B.C.) was a god of the Saxons. Wayland is also referenced as the Norse god of the forge.
Back to the future – back home folks will love this – the school district is WACO and covers the students of Wayland, Crawfordsville, and Olds. I was told that visiting people sometimes wonder how WACO school t-shirts and sweatshirts made it all the way up from Texas.
Way-Coh, WACO – by any other name would still be cheered on on the football field.
My visit with Doc Widmer (a second generation American; the second youngest of nine) and his wife was beyond pleasant. Doc met me at his door; bedecked in a blue jumpsuit, black rubber field boots (he was on his way to collect turkey manure) and a colorful kerchief around his neck. Not looking his age of 92, he had white hair and a Colonel Sanders triangular goatee and nothing but lucid coming from his eyes.
Growing up in the Depression about four miles from town; he said that “farming was kind of dull … wasn’t very exciting for a young boy,” what with only having horse to do the “hard” work, and decided that he would pursue medicine.
The local doc was retiring and he came back about 1946 to open his practice and make a go of it back in the hometown area. He said that he made those now almost nonexistent house calls and that an office call was about $2. But with a house rent of $20 and an office rent of $20, he said that covering his expenses wasn’t too hard. He said his total cost to go through med school was about $3,000; about $33,000 in today’s purchasing value.
I saw a copy of the monthly Wayland Reporter at Rex’s office and he took me next door to visit the staff. As he started to introduce me to the editor, Myrna Joy, she said, “you’re that guy.” She had heard I was coming here by way of my trying to get a room at the Wayland Guest House Bed & Breakfast after talking to the owner.
We yakked about our towns and journalism a bit and she took a photo to put in the paper. I don’t feel like I was all that newsworthy, but …
I was also able to meet up with Beverly Conrad (clerk) and Marsha Chalupa (deputy clerk) at City Hall and they told of days gone by when. To put it perspective as to what constitutes a fond memory, Marsha said that one of the highlights of growing up was having baloney sandwiches and potato chips on the way home from the grocery shopping trip that got them off the farm for this treat.
Beverly took me to the Wayland Museum housed in a small building on Main Street. They have a nice collection of times to chronicle the past, but she said that time just doesn’t permit delving more into gathering further info.
So far, Iowa feels the most like home to me. Maybe it’s just the tie I already had from the ’95 stop, maybe it was talking to Rex about how he and his friends used to sit on Main Street on Friday nights. Maybe it was the fact that the farms are so close to town and I have a fondness for sharing a town’s road with tractors and once out of town, you get the smell of growing things that define a rural place.
As I pulled into town this time, I smiled again when I saw Dino the dinosaur (hey, kid at heart – who doesn’t love dinosaurs, the longtime symbol of that blessing and curse of society – petroleum) still announcing that gas was for sale (Sinclair station) where I had bought it in ’95.
I went in and found Terry Farmer (I know, I know---you’d think he be plowing versus pumping as a vocation), but he wasn’t the Farmer who had told me to “wait here, I’ll be right back” back in ’95 when I told him I was from Wayland, N.Y. It was his brother Keith who probably did so he said and told me he’d (they are co-owners of the convenient store) be in later.
With time to kill, I went around and grabbed some photos of the City (it’s a Midwest thing, Wayland has a population of about 900). It’s a pretty town---errr, city----with tree lined tress and well kept houses and has a couple of facilities that care for the elderly who can’t quite live alone anymore.
When I went back to the Sinclair, I immediately recognized Keith even after 15 years from when he gave me a patch and then told me of the Wayland down the road in Missouri. It took a little time, but Keith did remember the moment, if not my face, 15 years ago when he was a part of the fire department. At 72, he irked my fanny since he looked better than I do. Dammit.
Brother Terry had heard my reason for being here and the two gave me Rex McGuire’s name to connect with at the Fire Hall to swap patches. They also gave me the name Doc Widmer to call later on, since at 92, he was a fount of all things Wayland, “sharp as a tack,” as Keith said.
Wayland was first called Crooked Creek and then it became Marshall until too many things meant to go to Marshalltown (northeast of it) came to Marshall and for the reason lost to the ages, the city was renamed Wayland, Keith said.
They called Rex who was at the Hall, as was Joe Kaufman, and we commenced to swap tales of small town growing up. Rex, 47, said he worked as the head of the local telephone company (Iowa still has about 160 small independent phone companies---the largest number in the country he said) and loved growing up in the town he had never left.
“It was a typical small town. If you got in trouble the whole town knew it and you didn’t have to worry about your parents catching ya – everybody else caught you,” Rex said.
Rex called Police Chief Ron Roth who came to the Hall and I followed him to the city cop shop to trade patches and he (a 2002 transplant from East Dubuque) told me that Wayland was once known as “The Christmas Town of Iowa,” when 90% of the houses in town were decorated.
It all began back in 1833, June 1 to be exact once another rock solid treaty was signed with the Native Americans. This from the book, “Wayland: The First Century” that Rex traded me for an extra fire patch.
The surveyors did their thing from October to November 1837 and then it was all over but for the wagons coming and unloading. First of the adventuresome to be logged in as staking claims were Zeros Plunket, Elijah Shockly, Hopkins Williams and John Woods.
As Doc Widmer (who didn’t hesitate in naming Naples as the home of the Widmer Winery when I told him his name had a local flavor) said that Germans and Swedes (he is of Swiss ancestry) were among the first to settle in the area, which is very much a Mennonite community still. Crooked Creek (1830) became Marshall Sept. 24, 1851, and Wayland on March 20, 1880. Like Michigan, no one has a clue as to why Wayland was chosen. The committee that put together the centennial book did mention the fact that Wayland does have ancient roots from England that holds that “Wayland the Smith” (thousands of years in the B.C.) was a god of the Saxons. Wayland is also referenced as the Norse god of the forge.
Back to the future – back home folks will love this – the school district is WACO and covers the students of Wayland, Crawfordsville, and Olds. I was told that visiting people sometimes wonder how WACO school t-shirts and sweatshirts made it all the way up from Texas.
Way-Coh, WACO – by any other name would still be cheered on on the football field.
My visit with Doc Widmer (a second generation American; the second youngest of nine) and his wife was beyond pleasant. Doc met me at his door; bedecked in a blue jumpsuit, black rubber field boots (he was on his way to collect turkey manure) and a colorful kerchief around his neck. Not looking his age of 92, he had white hair and a Colonel Sanders triangular goatee and nothing but lucid coming from his eyes.
Growing up in the Depression about four miles from town; he said that “farming was kind of dull … wasn’t very exciting for a young boy,” what with only having horse to do the “hard” work, and decided that he would pursue medicine.
The local doc was retiring and he came back about 1946 to open his practice and make a go of it back in the hometown area. He said that he made those now almost nonexistent house calls and that an office call was about $2. But with a house rent of $20 and an office rent of $20, he said that covering his expenses wasn’t too hard. He said his total cost to go through med school was about $3,000; about $33,000 in today’s purchasing value.
I saw a copy of the monthly Wayland Reporter at Rex’s office and he took me next door to visit the staff. As he started to introduce me to the editor, Myrna Joy, she said, “you’re that guy.” She had heard I was coming here by way of my trying to get a room at the Wayland Guest House Bed & Breakfast after talking to the owner.
We yakked about our towns and journalism a bit and she took a photo to put in the paper. I don’t feel like I was all that newsworthy, but …
I was also able to meet up with Beverly Conrad (clerk) and Marsha Chalupa (deputy clerk) at City Hall and they told of days gone by when. To put it perspective as to what constitutes a fond memory, Marsha said that one of the highlights of growing up was having baloney sandwiches and potato chips on the way home from the grocery shopping trip that got them off the farm for this treat.
Beverly took me to the Wayland Museum housed in a small building on Main Street. They have a nice collection of times to chronicle the past, but she said that time just doesn’t permit delving more into gathering further info.
So far, Iowa feels the most like home to me. Maybe it’s just the tie I already had from the ’95 stop, maybe it was talking to Rex about how he and his friends used to sit on Main Street on Friday nights. Maybe it was the fact that the farms are so close to town and I have a fondness for sharing a town’s road with tractors and once out of town, you get the smell of growing things that define a rural place.